Be Brief
by tanyart
Summary: Max is doing the laundry, which is innocent enough.  Throw in Fang’s underwear and then there’s bound to be trouble.   [mild!fax]


**AN: **I was cleaning out my old files and I found this. It was written three months ago and was cut off into a sort of crude ending, but I know I'm never gonna get back to properly finish it, so might as well share instead of delete. Happy Halloween. :)

…This is the last of my underwear fetish, I _swear_.

* * *

Whoever thought it was difficult working a laundry machine and dryer was surely lacking at least half their brain. Max couldn't understand why most kids complained about doing something so painfully simple. Well, compared to saving the world on a regular basis, saving the flock's clothes from smelling was basically a leisurely flight around the park.

Max turned over her pockets, fumbling for some spare change and promptly dropping a few quarters. By some twisted freak of nature, all three quarters happened to roll under the washing machines. Max lifted her eyes up to the water-stained ceiling and murmured to the Big Guy Upstairs; _why me_?

Ah, nothing like coin laundry machines.

Fang, being the loser that he was, refused to help out with the chore he normally enjoyed doing.

"Max," he had tried to explain, "Its one thing to do the laundry to help out your mom at home, but it becomes an entirely different situation if I have to do it in public."

Boys were completely useless.

…As was color coordinating dirty clothes. If the world was so freakin' intelligent and technological, then why hasn't anyone designed a detergent that took care of any type of laundry mishaps? It was always bleach this- dark colors that- etcetera. It was a total, mundane pain in the butt. Max almost wished that those Flyboys would comes crashing through the shop's windows to save her.

With a sigh, Max got down on her knees and peered distastefully under the droning machines. Was seventy-five cents worth reaching through dust bunnies, candy wrappers, and spider webs? Yes_. For the flock_, as she would constantly say like a mantra. She stuck her hand and held back a disgusted groan as her fingers brushed against god-knows-what. Whatever it was, it had successfully managed to feel dry, sticky, and powdery at the same time. She shuddered and patted on.

Max nearly yelped as her hand grazed across a sticky patch of gum. Or, she hoped it was gum. God, it had better be gum. There shouldn't be anything else that should feel like _that_.

A few more minutes of struggling paid off with her three quarters, plus two dimes and a penny and a dust-covered hand. Max blanched at the sight. It was as if her hand had gone through some sort of mutation. It was completely fuzzy and even blackish-brown at the fingertips. The longer she stared at it, the more nauseated she felt.

Of course, she wasn't the savior of the world for nothing.

Max took the three quarters and slid them into the coin slot. After messing around with the settings, the washing machine roared to life and then Max allowed herself to lose her cool. She drenched her hand as the water was gushing out. To her horror, none of the dust and stickiness was coming off.

"Gross, so gross, gross, gross, ew!"

Glancing around, she nabbed one of the baskets of clean laundry and furiously started wiping her hand. It wasn't until after her sticky fingers started to come off clean that she noticed she had been wiping her hands through a pair of clean boxers.

Max stared for a moment and held the piece of underwear up. It was black, so whatever she had wiped off wasn't noticeable on the dark fabric…

… but then again, the boxers _were_ black.

Which shouldn't have made a difference at all since Max had this silly habit of associating the color black with Fang.

Really.

Seriously.

It wouldn't have made a difference if she had been running her hand through Iggy's shirt, or Nudge's pants, or even Angel's socks. After all, it was just Fang's boxers. Standard size for men, plain waistband, cotton… _honestly_.

So there should have been no reason to blush like mad. Logically.

Then again, logic seemed to be nonexistent in Max's life.

She glanced sheepishly around, only to find the owner of the boxers in question to be standing a little ways from her. Max's slightly blushing face drained of all possible color. Stupidity took over and she threw her arms behind her back, as if things couldn't get anymore obvious.

"So… I just took the guys out to get some ice cream. Iggy's with them now across the street," Fang was saying casually, through his voice had a distinctly suspicious drawl to it.

For a hopeful moment, Max thought that Fang must have been having one of his oblivious days, but then… Fang never really had any of those either.

"Oh," Max said, proud that she didn't sound so flustered as she felt, "You didn't get any?"

Fang regarded her with a bored expression, "I came back to ask what flavor you wanted."

"Really? Thanks-"

There was a sharp intake of breath from Fang as the boy folded his arms loosely against his chest. His face no longer appeared bored, but rather sharp and disdainful. "But clearly, you've already had a flavor in mind."

Max was thrown off completely, "What?"

"What should I order for you then, hm? A scoop of Iggy in a sugar cone?" Fang said briskly, going back to his indifferent expression.

Max threw Fang a quizzical look. "And what is that suppose to mean?"

"It means that I just caught you fondling his pair of boxers," Fang snapped, "What the hell?"

"You mean these aren't yours?" Max exclaimed and dropped the very thing she was trying to hide behind her back. She paled once more before flushing red. She didn't know if she should have been glad that Fang was too upset to pick up on the implications of her slip-up or not.

"Obviously!" Fang muttered, picking the boxers up from the ground and promptly dropping it again in revulsion. "It's _sticky_."

Max didn't like his accusing tone one bit. It implied something her mind refused to tread on. "Because my hands were _sticky_, duh."

Fang had that blank look which told that he was so far beyond disgusted; his face wasn't even capable of making such an expression.

"Sticky from what?" he asked as if he was afraid to find out.

"From reaching underneath a washing machine and practically running my hand over ninety-nine percent of the world's bacteria to get the money I dropped," Max smiled and tilted her head like a puppy or more accurately, like the devil's incarnate, "What were _you_ thinking, Fang?"

"… Nothing."

And Max graciously accepted her victory.

* * *

End. 


End file.
